


Got A Bad Desire

by SinnamonSpider



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Based on a Tumblr Post, Daddy Kink, Dean is 16, Dry Humping, Extremely Underage, Incest Kink, Lolita, M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Sam is 12, Sibling Incest, Sort Of, Underage Masturbation, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinnamonSpider/pseuds/SinnamonSpider
Summary: When Dean quietly enters the motel room, Sam’s sprawled on his back on the bed they share with a book open in his hand.





	Got A Bad Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ninni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninni/gifts).



> This came from a Tumblr post by holdmesamthatwasbeautiful. She always has the most perfect little plot bunnies, and sometimes she graciously lets other people spin them out into something: on this case, 2k of shameless Weecest, with some daddy!kink thrown in for fun. I regret nothing.
> 
> Title from "I'm On Fire" by Bruce Springsteen. Skeevy song, Boss, but it's so good. 
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply. Feedback keeps me coming back.

When Dean quietly enters the motel room, Sam’s sprawled on his back on the bed they share with a book open in his hand. It’s not an uncommon sight, and Dean thinks nothing of it, until he hears harsh breathing. His head snaps up at the sound, eyes drawn instinctively to his little brother.

His little brother, who has the hand not cradling the book shoved down the front of his pajama pants, working himself furiously in the confines of the fabric.

Dean just stares.

Sam’s head is thrown back against the pillow, pink lips parted and wet. His eyes are half-closed; Dean can see his lashes fluttering against his cheekbones. He’s panting hard and even as Dean stands there trying to regain brain function, a breathy moan escapes from his mouth.

Sam’s the one who exhales, but Dean feels all the air leave his own lungs.

He rips his eyes away from the sight, but he can’t move; somehow, waiting until Sam finishes seems like the only option.

Dean pushes away the thought that races hot and insistent like a cartoon line of gunpowder through his head: how much he wants to hear Sam come, hear what he sounds like, the noises he makes. He can’t think like that. Not now. Not yet.

See, Dean remembers when he first discovered his dick; remembers jacking off whenever he got the chance. He remembers Sam banging on the locked bathroom door demanding to be let in; remembers biting down on his lip to stifle his moans. He remembers his father catching him finishing into a dirty sock, remembers John’s face as he haltingly spoke words like _natural_ and _normal_ and _not unless you want to do all the laundry_.

He remembers that time well enough to think it strange that he’s never caught Sam whacking it, but then he recalls that Sam is a weird kid, very private and secretive - nearly sneaky. He could have been jerking off for months without Dean knowing.

Here and now, though, with Sam writhing on the bed - _their_ bed - making those sounds, eyes rolled back and hand hard at work; well, now Dean knows what Sam looks like while he’s jacking it.

Another moan, louder this time; Sam’s alone - or so he thinks - and it sounds like he’s taking full advantage of the fact. His breathing is picking up, and if Dean strains his ears, listens past the moaning and the panting, he can hear the slick slide of skin on skin.

Not that he would. Just, he can’t help it. He’s got good hearing. Not his fault.

And by the sound of it, Sam’s close; his breath is starting to hitch and he’s doing this sort of repetitive whining thing that’s going straight to Dean’s cock and he has to move, has to dare it, to press the heel of his hand hard against himself.

Suddenly, Sam stops panting - stops breathing all together - and there’s a few beats of silence before he makes a low, guttural noise that’s somehow impossibly coming from Dean’s twiggy, geeky, twelve-year-old brother, and if Dean looked, he would see Sam’s hips bucking up against empty air; if he breathed deep enough, he would smell the tang of come.

Not that he would. Just, he can’t help it. Sam makes noise and Dean looks; it’s instinct. Not his fault.

Dean waits until he can hear Sam’s breathing even out before he creeps back to the door and opens it, slams it shut, gives Sam a minute to get himself together. Bedsprings squeak violently as Sam catapults off the bed, shoves the book back into Dad’s open bag, sitting on the other bed.

Sam ruffles his hand through his hair nonchalantly. “Hey.”

“Whatcha doin’, Sammy?” Dean asks, casual and cool, no indication that he’s hard as a rock in his jeans and his blood feels like it’s on fire in his veins.

Sam slouches toward the bathroom door. He hides his hand behind him, but not fast enough; Dean sees it, wet and glistening. “Gonna take a shower,” Sam says easily.

Dean fights for control of his voice. He wins. “Can’t wash off ugly,” he quips. Sam makes a face, swinging the bathroom door shut. “Jerk,” he calls through the gap before it closes. Dean doesn’t bother with his usual reply. Instead, he crosses the room to the other bed - Dad’s bed - and digs quickly through the bag in search of the book, ignoring the spike of fear at the idea of going through his father’s thing.

He pulls out the book - and freezes, staring down at it. It’s worn, dog-eared, the back cover missing completely. Dean knows it. Dad’s had it in his bag for years.

He wonders what Dad would say if he knew his youngest son had just jerked off to his copy of _Lolita_.

Before he can think further, before he can think what Dad would say if he knew his eldest son was about to jerk off to the memory of his baby brother jerking off to _Lolita_ , Dean’s got his jeans unzipped and his dick out, stripping away hard and fast, ears tuned to the sound of the shower.

He comes in record time; his release leaves him weak-kneed and gasping. In the bathroom, the water cuts off.

He is so, so fucked.

* * *

He can’t sleep.

Sam’s back is warm against his, making his skin sweaty beneath his t-shirt. If he turned, his little brother would be right there, all soft skin and gangly limbs, sleep-heavy and docile. He could snug himself right up against Sam, curl his body around his, press his aching cock into Sam’s tailbone and grind there until he comes.

Not that he would. Just, he can’t help it. Sam’s so close, so warm. Not his fault.

Sam stirs in his sleep, twisting toward Dean. His mouth opens in a sleepy groan, pink lips parted just like before. Dean runs his thumb over Sam’s lower lip, imagines running the tip of his dick there instead. Imagines Sammy opening up for him, warm wet tongue gliding over hard flesh, doe eyes watching him from under shaggy bangs.

He gets a hand around himself and comes quick and hard into his boxers, biting into the meat of his hand to stifle the sound. He dips a finger into the mess on his hand, rubs the stuff onto Sam’s lower lip. Snatches his hand away when Sam moves under him. Watches, rapt, as Sam presses his lips together, still deep asleep.

Dean turns away, clamping his knees together tightly as his spent dick twitches again.

* * *

He wakes up before Sam and hides in the bathroom, unable to face his little brother just yet. He jerks off again in the shower, but the water doesn’t wash away the guilt, the shame.

A sound from beyond the door makes him turn his head, listening hard. The water is starting to get cold, but he leaves it on as he steps out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his hips and cracking the door open slightly.

Sam’s lying on his front on the bed. He’s got a pillow - Dean’s pillow - between himself and the mattress and he’s rubbing himself against it, fucking his hips into the plush softness. His head is down, focused on the book he’s got spread flat on the sheets. Dean doesn’t wonder what book it is.

Even as he watches, Sam moans - the same sound he’d heard over the spray of the shower. Sam thinks Dean can’t hear him.

It would be so easy: leave the shower running, drop the towel, slink across the room to the bed.

Not that he would. Just, he can’t help it. Sam’s moaning like a whore, grinding himself into Dean’s fucking pillow, and Dean’s only human. Not his fault.

He drags his dirty pajama bottoms back on, just in case. Steals on quiet feet to where Sam is buried in the book, head down and hips thrusting.

“Whatcha readin’, Sammy?”

Sam startles, snaps his head up - and fucking _comes_ , right then and there, staring into Dean’s eyes, shock warring with pleasure on his face as he rides out his orgasm against Dean’s pillow.

Dean drops to his knees beside the bed and reaches out, catching Sam’s chin in his hand, holding him still. Sam’s still shaking through the aftershocks, pink mouth gaping open, lungs sucking in air in frantic gasps. “De-Dean,” he manages, and Dean quakes internally. He lets go of Sam, picks up the book.

“Shouldn’t go through Dad’s stuff,” Dean admonishes, looking at the plain cover that belies the story inside. He flicks his eyes back up to Sam’s, still breathing hard, red flush of shame spreading across his cheeks. Dean tosses the book behind him onto the other bed and leans in close. “Shouldn’t be readin’ that filth.”

Sam’s still wide-eyed and trembling, but he’s always been smart, Dean’s baby brother, and quick as a whip. His voice is sugar sweet and only shakes a little. “ _Lolita_ ’s a classic.”

Dean gets up and sinks onto the other bed. Across from him, Sam lifts himself up, revealing the dark patch of wetness on the crotch of his pajamas.

“It’s basically porn,” Dean argues. True, he hasn’t read the whole thing, but some helpful person - and Dean steadfastly refuses to think it might have been his own father - had underlined the best parts in lurid red pen. He’s got the general idea of the story, at the least.

“You would know,” Sam says, and he’s on his feet, crossing the few feet between the beds to crawl into Dean’s lap, hands sliding over still-wet shoulders, little fingers digging into skin.

Dean settles his own hands onto Sam’s waist. His fingers nearly touch around his brother’s slim frame. “What would Dad think, huh? If he caught you readin’ that book? Pawing through his things?” He leans in to push his face into the side of Sam’s neck, breathes in sleep-sweat and come and little brother smell. Sam wriggles in his lap, bird bones grinding into Dean’s cock through two layers of thin cotton.

“He’d punish you, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, hand sliding up to pinch at a flat nipple, pulling it into a peak. “You’re not too old for a spanking, I bet.”

Sam shudders on top of him, licking beads of water from Dean’s collarbone, moaning into damp skin. Dean pulls him down, thrusts up against his ass. He sneaks one hand down the back of Sam’s pants, rubbing his fingers over the skinny round of his brother’s cheeks.

“Dad’s not here,” Sam points out, panting harsh and Dean thinks back to yesterday, to the sound of Sam jerking off, to the heavy breathing that had caught his attention in the first place.

“No,” Dean agrees, catching Sam’s earlobe in his teeth, then pulling back to hiss in his ear. “But big brother is.”

Sam keens, nails biting sharp into Dean’s shoulder blades as they hump against each other, tightly controlled movements. Dean flirts one finger between Sam’s cheeks and Jesus, for a quiet kid, Sam is so fucking vocal like this. Dean knows he could do anything and Sam would let him.

Not that he would. Just, he can’t help it. He’s got a lapful of squirming, shivering baby brother, so responsive to every touch. Not his fault.

He grabs hold of Sam’s hips and rocks them together, falling back to the mattress. Sam settles better against him, grinding down as Dean fucks upwards. Barely a minute passes before Sam is gasping and writhing in his grip, warm wet heat spreading between them. Dean twists under him, face turning into the pillow, where he can smell his father’s aftershave. Above him, Sam is whispering. “C’mon, big brother. Daddy’s not here, so you’ve got to punish me instead.”

Dean comes so hard he blacks out for a minute.

When he comes around, Sam is snuggled against him as they lay, sweaty and fucked out, in their father’s bed. Something hard is under Dean’s head, and he reaches back to tug it out. _Lolita_.

He tosses it aside, wrapping his arms around Sam. They’ve got time before Dad gets home.


End file.
